Something Money Can't Buy
by Kathryn Adkins
Summary: Buffy "The Slayer" Summers is a romance novelist by day and a pool shark by night. Professor William "Spike" Benson is one guy who won't be hustled by the Slayer.
1. Ch1

"Actually, it's a very slow read and I'm having a bitch of a time getting into it," the bleached blonde man admitted to his reading group. "How the hell am I supposed to require my students to read it when I can barely get through it myself?"

Rupert Giles, a fellow professor at UC Sunnydale agreed.

"I often ask myself that same question as I'm preparing my semester's syllabus," he stated. "I've tried challenging the council on several occasions, but they insist on keeping in line with the old ways."

"Ah, yes," nodded teaching assistant Liam 'Angel' O'Connor. "The old 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' song and dance, right?"

"Precisely," snorted the blonde. "What a bunch of foolish rot."

Angel waved down their waitress and put in for another round of Guiness drafts. The three men had been meeting at the Bronze since they had begun working together at UC Sunnydale. William 'Spike' Benson was the newest to their intimate group. He had transferred from Birmingham University in England the year before to teach English I and Creative Writing. He joined the other two transplants, Giles who hailed from Bath and Angel, whose parents had made him a world-traveller before he was able to walk. The O'Connor's were originally from Edinburgh, Ireland, but Angel had purposely dropped his brogue long ago. He preferred the clipped American accent he'd adopted while in his first year of college at NYU. After one winter in the bustling city, he transferred to UC Sunnydale.

"And where is the other little trouble-maker?" Tara, their regular server, grinned as she distributed the frosty mugs of chocolate-brown drought.

"Running late, no surprise there," mumbled the tardy Xander Harris as he took perch on the barstool next to Giles. "G-Man, how nice of you to order me a beer," he grinned, taking Giles' drink from the table and downing a long, noisy sip.

"Xander" the older man sighed as he removed his glasses and began polishing them on his tweed coat sleeve. "How many times have I asked you not to call me G-Man?"

Tara winked and disappeared to bring Giles another mug of frosty goodness.

"This week?" Xander challenged.

The young man was the only member of their dysfunctional clan who was not from another country and who did not work at UC Sunnydale. He was Angel's roommate and ran his own construction company. He didn't always have much to add to their literary conversations, but he always tried. He was good for a few grins and giggles, breaking the scholarly trio from the monotony of serious discussions. And he was an all-aroundgood guy.

"And can we assume that you finished your chapter in Bede's _Ecclesiastical History of the English People?_" Spike asked the boy.

"No," Xander said with a curt shake of his head. "Assuming would be that thing that makes an ass... ah, no. But I did watch the whole first season of Andromeda on Sunday afternoon during Sci-Fi channel's Andromeda marathon. And I beat Buffy at three games of pool."

"How many did you play?" Angel asked, knowing that Buffy sunk Xander in pool every time.

"I believe what is important right now is that I won three games," Xander side-stepped.

"And anything is an improvement from your life-long losing streak against the girl, isn't that correct, Mr. Harris?" Giles egged on.

"Who's Buffy?" Spike found himself asking.

"Buffy Summers, pool shark and life-long best friend," Xander told him. "Never let the girl challenge you to any game that involves a table, a long, pointy, wooden stick and a rackful of multi-colored balls or you'll find out exactly what it's like to have yours handed to you unceremoniously... balls, that is."

Spike smirked at the boy's warning of his best friend.

"Oh, laugh now, Captain Peroxide," Xander warned. "Should you ever meet her, she'll slay you on the table."

* * *

Buffy grabbed her cue case from the hope chest at the foot of her bed. Time to take Mr. Pointy and hustle some unsuspecting idiots at the Bronze. It had been awhile since she'd actually gone out with the intention of making a few bucks off of the local schmucks, but she was having a bitch of a time writing the latest chapter of "Poker for the Soul" and her agent warned her that she could take no more advances until she turned in at least four more chapters and a storyboard for the rest of the novel.

It was bad enough that she was still living at home with her mother and younger sister. Having to ask for a small loan from Mom's purse to get her through the week? Even worse. She looked up as her dark-haired sister let herself into her room.

"Dawn, how many times have I told you to knock?" she reminded her.

Dawn stood with her arms folded across her chest. She watched as Buffy closed the lid to her hope chest and was pretty sure she knew what her sister was up to.

"Thought you quit hustling?" she asked, her voice just a little annoyed.

"And I thought you quit snooping?" Buffy retorted with equal annoyance.

The coltish girl shrugged, but did not move to leave the doorway. She watched her sister dig through her closet for her boots and coat. Buffy had poured herself into the tightest pair of faded Levi's she owned and topped off the faded denim with a tight. black long-sleeved t-shirt and studded leather belt. She was pulling on her worn black jimmies when Willow Rosenberg appeared behind Dawn.

"Hey Dawnie," the red-head smiled. "Buff, ready to go Bronzing?"

Buffy nodded, throwing the jacket over her shoulder before retrieving the cue case from her unmade bed. Willow frowned at the quilted metal case in her friend's hand.

"I thought you gave up hustling?" she asked cautiously.

"What is with you two? I never said anything about hustling," Buffy lied. "Maybe I just want to play a friendly game of billiards with Clem or Riley?"

Billiards was never a friendly game with Buffy. And the last time she had played Clem, he had run out of money and had started betting his cat's newborn kittens. Among the billiards regulars, she was known as the Slayer. And anyone with half a brain knew better than to challenge her to any form of the game -- be it eight ball, nine ball or snooker. The locals, although forewarned, would occasionally get a little cocky and want to show off their machismo by challenging the little blonde to a game. She'd quickly dispel their confidence by running the table in its entirety. Those who had never seen the Slayer play ball learned quickly how to lose a minimum of $100 in a matter of minutes -- often more.

Willy had gone so far as to install a snooker table at his little tavern, hoping to see someone best the little shark. Instead, he began betting on her against less knowledgeable bar patrons. The Slayer never let him down. Within a few days, the table had paid itself off at the hands of the Slayer.

"Friendly game and Buffy Summers?" Willow asked with her resolve face firmly in place. "Very unmixy. Buffy, if you need a few bucks to get you through the week, let me give you a loan."

Buffy shook her head vehemently. She never took money from friends unless she earned it.

"I'll play you for it," she offered.

"Willow," Buffy scolded, fixing her with a serious gaze. "It would be murder and you know it. Xander, I can take his money. But I couldn't do that to you."


	2. Ch2

The four men had attacked an onion blossom and three dozen hot wings by nine o'clock. Spike looked down at his watch and was about to announce that he needed to get home to prep for an early class when she walked in. His eyes locked on her bright green gaze immediately and he was enthralled. He watched her walk into the Bronze, her silky blonde hair hainging in loose waves down her back. Her friend looked familiar. He squinted across the room, trying to get a better look at the slight redhead who was giggling beside her. Rosenberg, he remembered. The quiet girl was in his twilight Creative Writing class. She wrote some of the more entertaining sci-fi stories he'd read during the semester. She had quite a promising future with her writings of witches and vampire hunters. Her musings always left him wanting more.

The blonde had sidled up to a beefy looking boy with close-cropped sandy hair and a broad smile. He rolled his blue and white flannel sleeves up to his elbows and nodded, before taking a cue from the rack and rolling it across the table to make sure it wasn't warped.

Xander followed Spike's eyes over to the billiards area and swore under his breath.

"You know, I'd feel sorry for Finn, but if he's stupid enough to play her after losing $250 last month, it's his own fault," Xander announced. "She'll never go out with him. I don't know why he keeps playing her little games."

Angel couldn't help but agree. The first time he saw Buffy, he was sure that he could get her to go out with him. She quickly dispelled that belief. She'd eyed him for a moment and smiled, licking her lips, and then challenged him to a game of nine-ball. If he could beat her, he could date her. But for each game he lost, he had to remove an article of clothing. Buffy had riveted her eyes to his crotch and grinned while she took apart he cue stick and put it back in its box. She made the comment about needing a little more monster in her man and that, sadly, Angel just wasn't up to task. His cheeks warmed at the memory of that humiliating moment. Xander seemed to catch the brood before it faded away completely.

"Oh yeah," he snickered. "Tall, dark and forehead here thought that he could get into her pants by playing for it, too."

Angel cast a sneer at his roommate as Giles cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, this really isn't an appropriate conversation to have about a young lady such as Miss Summers--"

"Oh, come off it, Rupe," Angel chided. "You weren't exactly calling her a young lady when she mopped the floor with you at Willy's."

Spike was enjoying the spirited conversation about the angelic little tiger across the room. She had them all ruffled.

"Liam, I thought we agreed never to mention that snooker massacre again?" Giles whispered hastily.

"Right, it's okay to bring up the most embarrassing moment in _my _life, but we can't talk about the shameful incident called 'Giles got his ass whooped by a girl'?" Angel continued.

"If you remember correctly, it was Harris who brought up the most embarrassing moment in your life," Giles reminded him. "And _I_ wasn't hitting on the lady. And, in my own defense, I was university snooker champion back home and had no idea that she played so well."

"And after losing $500 and your watch, you now see, with perfect clarity, what a little hustler she is?" Angel grinned.

Giles rolled his eyes and mumbled a stiff _shut up, Liam_ before returning his attention to his beer.

* * *

"So, are the stakes still the same, Buffy?" Riley asked just a little too enthusiastically.

She raked her eyes over his beefy form. No, not the same. Because it would cost him a hell of a lot more than $50 per loss to get within a five mile radius of her outside of the game room.

"Let's up the ante a little, Riley," she cooed, licking her shiny pink lips. "For every ball you sink, I'll remove an article of clothing."

His eyes widened at the prospect and at that moment, he decided to agree to any term she offered in return.

"But, for each ball I sink, it's an article of clothing for you," she began as he nodded. "And $50. Per ball."

"Riley, don't do it," Clem warned. "She beats you every time."

"Not this time," Riley grinned, offering his calloused hand to the petite blonde in front of him.

She placed her small hand in his and shook it firmly.

"Deal, Summers," he said, pumping her hand one more time.

"Okay, then. Show me the money," she smiled.

He pulled out a wad of bills from his jeans pocket and placed it on the edge of the table. Buffy quickly flipped through to make sure that a total of $450 was there. This was going to be too easy.

"You want to break?" she asked. "Or do you want me to do the honors?"

Riley quickly took the offer to break. He'd at least be able to get an upper hand. He assumed that playing a half-naked Slayer would make her a little more inhibited and she'd be more likely to mess up.

He immdiately sunk three balls and Buffy smiled widely.

"Very good, Finn," she smiled, pulling her top over her head to reveal two pert breasts encased in a thin wisp of lace. The bra left little to the imagination and Riley immediately honed in on the pebbled nipples poking through the lacy confection.

She bent down and removed her boots and socks. That was three. And removing her top, while not neccessary, was definitely going to work in her favor. She ran her hands over her hips and smiled coyly at Riley. She could already see the fruits of her efforts evident in his pants.

"Looks like I'm little ones," she said, scanning the table. "That would make you... big."

He nodded dumbly andset uphis next shot as she leaned over the pocket he was aiming for.

And he missed.

"Looks like it's my turn," she smiled, wiggling her hips as she walked over the the chalk mound to powder her hands. She pulled Mr. Pointy fromits case and assembled it, running the small cube of blue over its tip sensuously.

She sized up the table and called off her shots, one by one, until they were all sunk and Riley Finn was standing with his hands strategically placed in front of his crotch. And then she sized him up, too. Big hands, but they more than adequately covered the shrinking violet beneath. He wasn't even worth a go, she decided, retrieving the wad of bills from the table and stuffing them in her pocket.

Riley dressed hastily while Buffy took her time, sliding on her socks and boots leisurely before slipping her top back over her head. She stopped to pat him on his cheek and smiled sweetly.

"Any time you want to go again," she winked. "I'm game."

* * *

Spike had been watching the game intently from across the room, surprised when the girl had let the farm boy go first. And even more surprised when she not only counted socks and shoes as one item each, but took them off _after_ removing her top.

"That's how she reels 'em in," Angel told his friend, when he saw his mouth hanging open.

"Yeah, works every time," Xander agreed as he tucked into another plate of the Bronze's signature 'Hellmouth' hot wings. Tears slid down his cheeks from the bite of the sauce, but he continued to stuff them into his mouth.

"That's how she got me," Angel continued. "Off with the top, pointy little nipples poking out as she leans over the pocket and it's just impossible not to miss when all you can think about is sucking on those hard, sweet little cherries."

"Hey," Xander scowled. "Best friend, here. Let's watch how we talk about the Buffster in my presence, please and thank you."

He managed to get a few more wings down before breaking down.

"She does have pretty hot tits, doesn't she?" he smirked, unable to disagree with Angel's assessment of his best friend's goods.

"Gentlemen," Giles admonished, not wanting to admit that the little blonde had been the cause of more than one chubby on his behalf as well. "Some of us are old enough to be her father."

"Ah, yes... that would be the some of us who has been trying to date her mother for the past five years," Xander pointed out.

"Xander," Giles warned. "That will be enough."

Spike continued to watch the girl as she and her friend giggled, much to Riley's chagrin. The boy was smart enough to exit the bar as quickly as he could, tail tucked between his legs. The other gamers tried to busy themselves, being careful to avert themselves from Buffy's not-so-innocent gaze.

She looked up and locked eyes with him. She was looking at him like she was trying to figure out if she knew him from somewhere. He saw her lean her head toward Willow's and nod. And then they both rose and began to cross the room.

They were coming right toward them. Spike couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. There was something magnetic about her gaze and he was helpless against her. Within moments, they were standing at the high top, Buffy leaning on her elbows between Angel and Xander.

"Angel, it's good to see you," she smiled sweetly. "Fully clothed, I might add. Care to do something about that?" she asked, nodding toward the billiards tables.

"Nope. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt," Angel quickly replied.

"Or, in your case, Dough Boy," Xander smirked. "_Lost _the t-shirt... and the pants and the..."

Angel silenced him with a well-timed glare.

"Giles," she greeted, turning her smile on high-beam. "Glad to see you out and about after the snooker fiasco at Willy's."

"Likewise, Buffy," he nodded, his cheeks turning crimson at the memory of his embarrassing defeat at her hands.

Her eyes finally settled on the blue ones that had been watching her since her arrival at the Bronze. She hadn't seen him there before. _Fresh meat_, she grinned at the thought. She felt a tingle in her spine as he stared curiously back at her. He was beautiful, she decided, her eyes skimming the sharpness of his cheekbones and the fullness of his bottom lip. She found herself wondering how he would taste as she sucked that pouty lip into her mouth. No man had ever had such an immediate impact on her. She tried to maintain composure as he narrowed his eyes on hers.

"And who is your friend?" she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving Spike's.

"Oh, that's Professor Benson," Willow offered. "He teaches my Creative Writing class."

"Yeah," Xander grinned evilly. "I believe he's the one you said couldn't write his way out of a box, isn't he Buffy?"

Buffy, try as she might, could not keep the warmth from creeping into her golden cheeks. She had said that, hadn't she? Willow had been overloaded with assignments, and Buffy wrote her creative writing piece for her. For her efforts, Willow had received a B minusand unwelcome commentary about her mediocre work.

Spike raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Willow chose to ignore Xander's remark and continued on with her introductions.

"Professor, this is my friend, Buffy Summers," she told him. "Um, she , uh... she writes romance novels."

"More like soft-porn for women," Angel interjected. His colleagues stared at him. "What? I read a few chapters. I was curious. It was complete smut."

"Says the guy who hasn't had any in, what? At least a year since Cordy dumped you, isn't it now, Liam?" Buffy dug.

"Yeesh, Buff. Thought we agreed not to bring up the C word in front of A-N-G-E-L," Xander spelled out with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah," Buffy continued, casting a sneaky look Angel's way. "She was a cunt, wasn't she?"

Angel blushed but said nothing in his ex-girlfriend's defense.

"So, Professor," she said, searching behind her for a bar stool to pull up to the table. She grabbed two and pushed one toward Willow, inviting herself to join the men. "What do you do when you're not shredding apart aspiring young writers?"

"Call me Spike, Love," he told her.

"Spike," she said slowly. "Care to challenge a girl to a game of pool?"

He smiled, not ready to be reigned in by the little hustler before him.

"Not that I don't fancy staking your arse good and proper, but I'm a bit out of practice. And I'm man enough to admit that if I challenged you now, I'd leave this room with a lighter wallet and far fewer clothes than I have on at the moment."

She smiled up at him, taken aback by his candid response. Nothing to prove, she thought. She liked that in a man.


	3. Ch3

Willow squirmed in her seat, the sound of the wall clock ticking a loud echo in her head. She could feel Professor Benson's eyes boring into her while she worked diligently on her timed writing assignment. Why, oh why, oh _why_ had she let Buffy talk her into going to the Bronze? And why had she introduced her to Professor Benson? She used to be able to blend so easily into the sea of heads in the tiered classroom. Now, she felt like she was wearing a Lo-Jack transmitter and he was holding the tracking unit.

"Five minutes remaining," he announced. "Please wrap up your work and hand it in as you leave."

Willow quickly finished the remainder of her assignment. The task? Write about a life-altering moment. Personal experience. She hated these. She would rather be writing about Faith, the Vampire Hunter who had fallen in love with the Master Vampire, Rack. This real life stuff? Just too real and not too comfy.

She decided to go with shock value. Besides, it _was_ a life-altering moment when she and Oz had parted ways and she discovered that her eye wandered more toward the female persuasion than to the male. She had wondered if Oz had just ruined her for any other man or if she had always secretly been more interested in the same sex.

She had yet to act on her discovery, but she had been working up the nerve to ask out Tara, a waitress at the Bronze. She just wasn't sure as to how she should go about it. _Um, hi, I'm Willow and I'm gay. Wanna go out some time?_ It just seemed too crass. Maybe she could get Xander to do a little snooping for her where Tara was concerned. He was friendly enough with the pretty blonde.

"Miss Rosenberg? Miss Rosenberg?"

She snapped her head up and met Professor Benson's curious blue gaze.

"I'm... I'm done," she told him, blushing. "I guess I just spaced out thinking about... um, stuff."

"Quite alright, Miss Rosenberg," he smiled, taking the paper from her desk. "I always look forward to reading your assignments. You never disappoint me."

She smiled and began packing up her things.

"Well, I'm glad to hear--"

"Except for that one assignment I had to grade as a B minus," he interrupted. "Then again, you didn't write that one, did you?"

Caught.

"Um... I, uh..."

"It'll be our little secret, Miss Rosenberg," he assured her with a wink. "I imagine it was your friend, Miss Summers, who wrote that little piece of fluff, yeah?"

Willow blushed again.

"That's what I thought," he smiled. "It wasn't done in what I've come to call Willow-style. You have a promising future as a writer, Miss Rosenberg. I especially enjoy your Vampire Hunter series. It's got your action, your horror and just a touch of romance. Very well done."

Willow beamed at her professor's praise.

"Leave the smut to Miss Summers," he advised. "You excel in crafting a well-balanced tale of horror, romance and suspense, Miss Rosenberg. Do what you do best."

"I will," Willow promised. "And thank you, Professor Benson."

"Nobody's around, Pet. You can call me Spike," he told her.

"Um, thank you... Spike," she smiled.

Willow grabbed her purse and backpack and set out to leave, but stopped suddenly.

"And Spike," she said, turning toward her professor. "A word of advice between friends... don't let Buffy con you into a game of pool. They don't call her the Slayer for nothing."

"Advice heard and appreciated," he nodded, having no intention of actually taking it.

* * *

Buffy had no idea what had possessed her to show up anywhere near the campus of UC Sunnydale, let alone right in front of theLiberal Artsbuilding. She tried to tell herself that she was there to surprise Willow with a new chapter to her novel. Yes, she was bringing the latest manuscript for her friend's approval and then they could go celebrate over beers at the Bronze. That's why she was there. Only she had left the latest manuscript on her desk at home.

_And why are you so late? _she asked herself. _And why are you still heading into her creative writing classroom when you know that the only person left in there might be one very sexy Professor Benson?_

She stopped in front of the door and cursed under her breath. She shouldn't be here. She turned to leave and heard the door open in her wake.

"Miss Summers?" that unmistakably sexy British voice called after her.

She stopped and tensed up, tring desperately to compose herself. She turned to face the quizzical pair of blue eyes with a smile.

"I, uh... was hoping I'd get here before Willow left," she lied. "I guess I missed her."

He didn't say a word as he advanced toward her. He was decidedly one of the most casually dressed college professors she had ever seen. His faded Levi's fell snugly over his hips and thighs. His black, leather car coat was far more casual than Professor Giles' preferred tweed. He wore a white oxford beneath it with a deep burgundy silk tie, loosened at his unbuttoned neckline.

"Yes," he smiled when he was just inches from her. "I guess you did."

He had the feeling that she wasn't there to see her friend. He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers as he stood close enough to invade her personal space. She smelled like vanilla. The scent rippled off of her in warm waves and accosted his senses.

She had no idea why she was allowing him to render her motionless. Her eyes flitted to that sexy pout of his and about a dozen deliciously sinful thoughts flooded her mind sending a strong tingle to her core. She watched as his hand brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, but still could not will herself to move.

"Shall I walk you to your car?" he offered.

"Uh, I don't drive," she stammered. "Cars and Buffy... very unmixy things."

"How about motorcycles?" he asked, the warmth from his hand still lingering on her skin.

"Um, I..."

"Because I'd feel much better knowing that you're not walking home alone," he told her. "Never know what kind of nasties are out there, Love."

"Are you offering me a ride?" she asked, her eyebrow arched.

_Oh yeah, little girl. I'm offering you a ride._

"I've got an extra helmet," he told her, taking her elbow and leading her toward the parking garage. "I'm sure Miss Rosenberg would be relieved to know that you were escorted home safely."

She nodded and allowed him to lead her to his bike. He handed her a helmet and asked her for her address.

"Um, 1630 Revello Drive," she told him before tucking her hair under the helmet.

She slid behind him on the bike and placed her hands on either side of his waist, almost afraid to touch him. Within minutes of leaving the parking garage, she had tightened her grip around him to vise-like proportions, her breasts smashed against his back.

"Not afraid of a little motorcycle ride, are you Love?" he yelled back to her.

She squeezed his ribs with her strong arms in response. Her hands were clasped at his belt buckle as she tried her damndest not to slip them any lower. She didn't understand what it was about this man that was making her want to behave like one of the wanton harlots in her novels.

"Relax, Pet." he told her. "I've been drivingmotorcycles for the better part of 20 years. Haven't lost a passenger yet."

He turned onto Revello Drive and slowed to read the numbers on the houses. He heard her say _right there_ when they reached the white craftsman near the end of the road. He stopped the bike and cut the engine, taking care to prop it up on its kick stand before helping the shaken young woman off the back.

"Don't tell me that was your first motorcycle ride?" he asked as she handed him the helmet with shaking hands.

She nodded numbly. His lips curved into a warm smile. The unshakable Slayer was clearly shaken. And he thought it was absolutely darling. She glanced up at the darkened house remembering that her mother was at a gala for her art gallery and that Dawn was spending the night with Janice.

"So," he smiled, noticing her nervousness as she glanced between him and the house. She hadn't taken a single step in the direction of her door.

"So," she echoed quietly, her eyes wide. "I... I should probably go call Will. I, uh... finished another chapter in my novel. That's... that's why I was waiting for her. To tell her about the chapter. Because I'd had a bitch of a time eking that one out. And I wanted to let her know that I had. You know... eked it out."

She was rambling. She knew she was rambling. But she didn't want him to leave. And she didn't want to seem forward by inviting him in.

He took a step toward her and softly brushed his knuckles over her cheek. She could feel her heart pounding, just like Amanda, she thought, just before the first time Ethan kissed her. But this wasn't one of her novels. This was Willow's professor. Willow's very hot, extremely lickable professor. And he was making her think very lusty thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes on hers before bringing his lips down to hers. He barely brushed them as he whispered "Invite me in, Love."

Her hands had moved up to rest on his chest. What the Hell was she doing? She barely knew this man. Her eyes rolled shut as she felt his tongue trace a slow line over her bottom lip. When she gasped, he took the opportunity to slide his warm, velvety tongue into her mouth just enough to taste her. She tasted as sweet as she smelled, like melted vanilla ice cream dripping onto his tongue. He slowly pulled away from her, surprised at her reluctance to break the kiss. Her eyes were still closed when he looked down at her smiling face.

"Then again," he said, his voice silky. "Inviting me in may be a bad idea."

She slowly opened her eyes, allowing his face to come back into focus as if she was waking from a dream. A very bad idea, she silently agreed with a small nod.

"Next time you want to see me," he told her. "Don't feel that you have to use Miss Rosenberg as an excuse."

She tilted her head and bit down on her lip. He knew. Saw right through her, he did.

"Let me see you to the door, and then I'll be off," he told her, taking her arm again and leading her up her walkway.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment before managing to open the lock.

"Thank you," she said, her voice cracking just a bit.

"The pleasure was mine, Love," he assured her, pressing his lips to her forehead before turning to leave.

She watched from her doorway as he started his bike. He looked up to see her standing there, a curious expression etched on her features. He waved to her as he turned the bike back onto the roadway. He was already half-way down Revello Drive when she raised her hand to slowly wave back.


	4. Ch4

Buffy lay in bed listening to the sounds of the empty house settling around her. Her lips were still tingling from Spike's kiss. She kept replaying it over and over in her head. Why had she let him kiss her? She didn't even know him. And cocky! Why hadn't she opened her mouth and put him in his place?

_If I'd had an audience I would have said something,_ she thought. _If you had an audience, none of that would have happened in the first place, _was the immediate response.

She _wrote_ about things like that. They didn't actually happen to her. She never let anyone get close enough to her for those things to happen. Wouldn't her fans just have a field day to discover that their favorite writer was a 19 year-old virgin? She couldn't help but let out a giggle herself at the thought.

Wouldn't they be shocked to fund out that the writer whose nom de plume was _Elizabeth St. James_ was actually college drop-out, pool hustler Buffy Anne Summers who still lived with her mother and younger sister? And that her relationships had all been brief and had all ended with a strong kick to the shins and a resounding _no_.

She wrote about love, romance and bone-numbing sex. The closest she had ever gotten to any of those things was kissing Spike in her front yard.

The phone rang making her jump. She couldn't imagine who could be calling at this hour. She glanced at her alarm clock. Nearly midnight. Mom was probably calling to tell her not to worry. She'd be home after cleaning up the gallery.

"Hi Mom," she answered, not even bothering to find out who was ringing at that hour.

"Sorry to disappoint, Pet."

Her body tingled at the dulcet tones of the British voice at the other end of the phone.

"Spike? How... How did you get my number?" she asked, surprised to hear from him.

"I've got my ways."

She could practically hear the self-gratifying smile on his handsome face.

"Why are you calling me?" she asked nervously.

"Couldn't get you out of my mind," he told her. "So, I stopped by Barnes and Noble on the way home to pick up some new reading material. Care to ask what I bought?"

She was almost afraid to know.

"Um, what... what did you buy?" she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"A little novel called _End of Days _by a young lady named Elizabeth St. James," he told her. "Ever heard of it?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God... _why_ would he buy the smuttiest novel she'd ever written? Did he even know?

"Why would you buy that particular novel?" she wanted to know.

"Angel had mentioned it after I asked him just what novel he was thumbing through when he decided that you actually wrote soft porn for women," he replied casually.

She was _so_ going to kick Angel's ass.

"I was hoping you'd let me read some of it to you," he informed her.

"Why would you want to do that?" she squeaked. "I mean, I've already read it... of course, I have. Because I wrote it. So, why? Why read it to me?"

"Ever heard of audio books?" he asked.

Of course she had. What self-respecting author hadn't?

"I was hoping this could be my informal audition to be the voice of your audio books," he said. "I've recorded a few before if you'd like my resume."

"And you decided that calling me at this hour was the best way to get an audition?" she asked drolly. "You could have waited until tomorrow and made an appointment with my agent."

"Perhaps I could have. But I thought you'd appreciate the personal touch," he said, his voice dropping down enough to send shivers through her body. "So, I already have a passage prepared. Are you comfy? Because I'd like you to be relaxed and ready to absorb the reading."

She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. _I am so going to regret letting him do this_, she told herself.

"I'm comfy," she told him, her voice a shaky whisper.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should tell me what you're wearing... are you in bed?"

"What does that have to do with you reading the passage?" she asked.

"Just trying to get a... feel... for my audience," he said glibly.

"I'm in bed," she relented.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What are you wearing?" he persisted.

"Jammies," she told him.

"Gathered as much," he couldn't help but grin. "Didn't take you for the type to sleep commando. What kind of jammies, Love?"

She thought about lying and telling him she was wearing a lacy little teddy that left nothing to the imagination.

"A pair of grey and blue plaid boxers and a grey t-shirt with a cartoon of farm animals that says 'Eat More Veggies.' Does that work for you?" she challenged him.

He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just how old are you Buffy?" he asked.

"Just how old are _you_, Professor Benson?" was her immediate response.

"Which number do you want?" he asked her. "The one on my drivers' license, or the one I give to nosy first year college students?"

She smiled at the way he answered her question with one of his own. She imagined he had many a nosy freshman girl wondering just what it really took to get an A in his class.

"How about the truth?" she offered. "And I'm 19."

She was younger than he thought.

"Right then," he said a little too tightly. "I suppose turnabout's fair play. I'm 25."

"Twenty-five, huh?" she asked.

"Alright, you nosy little chit. I'm 35," he amended.

There was an awkward silence while Buffy waited for him to say something, anything else.

"Can I tell you what I think about age?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.

"If I say no, are you still going to tell me?" he asked.

"Mmm..." she thought for a moment. "Probably."

He sighed. "Give me your take on age then, Pet."

"Age is just a number of years you've been on the planet," she said matter-of-factly.

"Meaning?"

"Just that. It's a number. Your friend Angel is 23 years old. He acts like a 16 year-old in heat," she explained. "Willow's 19. She acts as stodgy as Giles and he's 40-something... he won't divulge his real age."

That earned her another chuckle from the other end of the phone.

"So, you said something about auditioning for me?" she reminded him, suddenly feeling bolder than she had before.

"That, I did."

"And you have something prepared?"

"Ah, yes. I do."

"Alrighty then, give me a brief intro to the passage and then begin," she instructed him.

She heard him clear his throat and then heard the flipping-through of pages as he found his place in the book.

"Amanda has just admitted to her kidnapper, Ethan Raine, that she has fallen in love with him. Ethan, although shocked by her revelation, can't help but profess his undying love for her, as well. Got a good grasp on Stockholm Syndrome, do you, Love?" he asked.

"Just... just read the passage," she told him, licking her suddenly-dry lips in anticipation of his interpretation of what she was sure would be one of the smuttiest passages in the novel.

Why was she not only letting him do this but encouraging it? Nothing good could come of it. She closed her eyes and saw the bright blue of his eyes piercing her memory. _That's why I'm letting him do this,_ she thought. When she had walked into the Bronze that night, his eyes were the first thing she saw. And the pull was insanely strong. Everything else just faded away. There were no sounds, no scents, no faces but his. He was all she could see and it dizzied her beyond her wildest fantasies.

"And we begin in the boudoir of Ethan's castle with Amanda now his willing captor," he said, leading her into the scene.


	5. Ch5

Buffy settled against her pillows, pulling her covers up around her, as Spike began to read...

_Ethan lifted the trembling girl in his strong arms. He could no longer deny what he saw there, nor could she. "I love you," she whispered. "I know it's wrong, but I can't fight it any longer, Ethan. Something's changed between us." He couldn't disagree. _

_He had never intended on falling in love with Amanda Pierce. She had been meant to be a means to an end. He had stolen her from her family threatening to slit her lovely throat if her father could not come up with the ransom for her return. Imagine his surprise when Commodore Pierce informed him that he wouldn't see so much as a single shilling. "Do with her as you please," he'd informed Ethan. And he found himself taking pity on the girl._

_"Please, Ethan," she whimpered. "Make love to me."_

"Big fan of the Stockholm Syndrome, are we, Love?" he asked.

"Keep reading," she instructed, almost anxious to hear her sinful words tumbling out of his mouth.

He cleared his throat and continued a little further down the page.

_He gazed at her nude form reclining on his bed. She was an angel with creamy skin and golden hair billowing around her head in a halo. Ethan crawled up beside her and bent down to capture her lips. He gently stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance. Amanda had never been kissed that way in all of her young life. She gasped at the velvety roughness and Ethan plunged his tongue into her warm mouth. She tasted like sunshine and Christmas. She mewled as his hand began to knead the soft flesh of her breast. "Oh Ethan," she moaned, arching into his touch as her nipple began to pebbled beneath his calloused palm._

Buffy slid her hand over her own breast stopping to pinch the already-pebbled nipple through the material.

_His hand travelled down to her wet, hot center. He continued to suckle her breast as his fingers sought out the shiny, pink pearl nestled between her thighs. He stroked her delicately, eliciting a strangled moan to spill from her lips. She bucked up against him when he pushed a finger into her creamy core._

Buffy's hand was moving toward the waistband of her boxers when he stopped speaking.

"Are you still with me, Love?" he asked.

"Hmm? Yeah," she replied absently. "Why'd you stop?"

"You know, Pet," he sighed. "You really could have put a little more into this with it being her first time and all."

"What!"

Who the Hell was _he_ to criticize her work?

"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "It's very good. But she's a bloody virgin. Just because he's Victorian doesn't mean he doesn't want to make it good for her. It's going to hurt like Hell when they finally shag. If I was taking a girl for the first time, I'd want to make her come for me at least a dozen times before ripping through her maidenhead."

He _so_ was not talking about this with her.

"I mean. think about it -- as a woman, Love," he proposed. "Wouldn't you have rather been taken to Heaven at least once before having your first lover's wanker shoved up inside you stretching you to painful widths?"

Yes, he was.

"Let me tell you how I would do it, Buffy," he proposed.

"I'm listening," she said quietly, not sure why she was encouraging this conversation.

"If I had been your first lover," he told her, his voice low and sultry. "I would have begun by kissing you senseless."

He had done a pretty good job of that out on her front porch.

"But I wouldn't have stopped tasting you there," he continued.

His voice was sending delicious vibrations directly to the center of her body. She could feel the warmth building her belly and fanning down toward her sex. She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of her boxers, seeking out the hard nub hidden between her netherlips.

"I would have taken your rosy nipple in my mouth and suckled it gently until it hardened in my mouth," he told her. "And then I would have turned my attention to the other breast while my hand slid down your body... down your flat tummy, through the soft down of your mound..."

She was stroking herselft in quick circles as he continued to tease her with his words.

"My lips would have followed the trail my hand made and when I got to that untouched spot between your dimpled knees, I would have darted my tongue out to brush over your most sensitive area while you writhed beneath me..."

She was stroking herself even faster .

"I would have teased you relentlessly, tasting you for the first, second, third time…"

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..._

"And when you were just about to go over the edge, I would have taken you into my mouth and sucked hard until you bucked against me. And then I would have done it all over again."

"Ohhh Gaaaahh..." she moaned, shattering into a million pieces.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..._

He was silent on the other end of the phone as her cheeks flushed red.

"You okay, Love?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. She wouldn't... couldn't... did she?

Buffy tried to will herself back to the present. Through her embarrassed afterglow, she managed to focus on his voice.

"Buffy?"

"Hmmmm? I'm... uh... I'm here," she mumbled.

"Baby, did you just--"

"I should really get going," she said quickly. "I, uh... it's late. And, oh God... I..."

"So, did I get the job done?" he teased.

"I think you mean did you get the job," she corrected.

He decided not to push.

"I enjoyed talking to you tonight, Love," he told her quietly.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice a little shaky as she realized that he'd just heard everything.

"Get some sleep, Buffy," he told her. "And I'll see you soon."


	6. Ch6

Buffy managed to crank out three more chapters of _Poker for the Soul_ by avoiding Professor Benson at all costs. The money she'd won from Riley was more than enough to get her by while she effortlessly typed out some of the best imaginary sex she'd ever had. It was _him_. Spike. She kept hearing his voice reading her words. Hearing him tell her just how he'd take her. Just thinking about the effects he'd had on her that night made her tremble.

"What the Hell am I doing?" she asked herself out loud.

She looked around her room and decided that two weeks had been long enough. She'd take the risk of running into him. She just had to get out of the house before cabin fever settled in completely. She dug through her drawers for something to wear. She'd been sitting around in her bathrobe eating Ben and Jerry's Phish Phood since she'd embarrassed herself on the phone. Very un-Buffy-like.

She grabbed her cell phone and decided to text Willow a message.

_It's Bad Disco Night... want to go Bronzing?_ she typed into her phone.

A few moments later, she read Willow's response of _leisure suits, afros and Gloria Gaynor? I'm so there. What time?  
_  
_Meet me there at 9_ was Buffy's quick reply.

"Miss Rosenberg?"

"Eep!" Willow tried to put up her phone as Professor Benson approached her seat.

He held out his hand and read the message on the screen. He tried to hold back a small smile as he looked up at the pink-cheeked student in front of him.

_Nine will be splendid_, he typed in before handing the phone back to Willow.

"By the way," he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "The little blonde beer wench likes you."

Willow's face lit up at the secret he revealed. She hit send on the message knowing that Professor Benson wouldn't be too far behind her in going to the Bronze.

"Splendid?" Buffy read aloud. She shrugged it off. "Whatever."

The kilted skirt she wore was just a little too short. The heels on the black leather boots were just a little too high. And the vee of the little black cashmere tank just a little too low. Her eye make-up was just this side of being whorish and it made her think of a scene at the end of _Ferris Beuhler's Day Off_ where Charlie Sheen informed Jennifer Grey that "You wear too much eye make-up. My sister wears too much eye make-up. People think she's a whore."

_Not whorish_, she told herself. Smoky. Yeah. That's what _Cosmo_ called it... the smoky eye. Whorish would be equally huge amounts of Fuck Me Red lipstick which she'd forgone in favor of a soft, pinky-peach. She stared at herself in the mirror.

"God, Buffy," she chided herself with a shake of her head. "Are you just _hoping _you'll run into him?"

Part of her was.

Willow arrived at the Bronze by 8:30 and immediately set to scanning the club for a peroxided head. He didn't disappoint. He sat at his usual table with Xander and Angel. Professor Giles seemed to be missing from the little group. Willow took a deep breath and walked over to join them, hoping Tara would be working.

"Fancy seeing you here, Red," Spike winked at her. "Come take a seat by me, Pet."

He patted the barstool beside him and she understood that he had saved it for her. Sneaky Spike. How could a professor be so yummy and likeable? And now he was helping her get a date with the girl of her dreams. She was glad she had written that timed assignment about liking girls better than boys.

"Tara," he called, as Willow's cheeks went pink. "Be a love and get Red here anything she wants on me."

Tara smiled at the blushing girl in front of her and asked her what she wanted.

"Yeah, Love," Spike teased. "Tell her what you _really _want."

She kicked at him under the table and missed, causing him to chuckle.

"Might I suggest a Maiden's Blush?" he continued. "Or, perhaps, a Pink Lady."

She mentally took back the yummy and likeable thing she'd thought earlier.

Tara grinned as Willow's cheeks burned bright crimson.

"I... I like your pendant," Tara told her, pointing to the coin hanging from a black satin cord. "It's the Triquetra, isn't it?"

Willow's eyes shot up to meet Tara's sea green orbs. The were sparkling in recognition of the protective Triple Goddess symbol.

"How did you know that?" she asked.

Tara leaned closer and brushed her fingers over the silver coin at Willow's throat.

"It's the three yonic vesicas surrounded by the Wiccan Rede," she smiled as if it was something everyone knew. "An it harm none, do as you will," she read.

"So, what'll it be, Red?" Spike asked again.

"A diet Coke, please," she smiled at Tara.

And just like that, he was yummy and likeable once again.


	7. Ch7

Buffy pulled the short leather jacket around her as she walked to the Bronze. _Should have had Willow pick me up_, she frowned. It was a little chillier than she'd anticipated while she was dressing. And just who had she dressed for anyhow? It's not like Professor Benson... no, _Spike_... it's not like Spike would be there anyhow. And she didn't even know if she wanted him to be there.

She'd left Mr. Pointy at home, not wanting to piss the already pissed-off locals any more than necessary in the game room. Nope. No hustling tonight. _Just some dancing and a few little drinkies for this girl,_ she thought.

She opened the heavy door to the Bronze and slipped inside, immediately scanning the room for her red-headed friend. Willow usually sat at the bar sneaking what she hoped was unnoticed peeks at Tara. She looked over to the bar. No Willow. Maybe she wasn't there y--

"Buffy! Over here!"

Willow was sitting at a high-top flanked by Angel, Xander and _him_. What the Hell was she doing? She was waving her arms wildly above her head and grinning, trying desperately to get Buffy's attention. She probably was grateful Buffy was there to save her from her college professor.

She walked slowly to the table, her eyes locked on Spike's. What was it about him that had her drawn to him like a moth to a flame? She reached the table and forcefully averted her gaze.

"Hey Xan," she smiled slyly at the dark-haired boy who was already tucking into a plateful of wings.

"Buffster," he grinned, wing-sauce coating his fingers and lips. He held up a drumstick. "Wing?"

"Uh, as tempting as that looks, I'll have to pass," she replied, looking at him like he had three heads.

He shrugged and went back to his meal.

"Hi Angel," she tried with a sweet smile.

"I'm still mad at you," he told her gruffly.

She rolled her eyes. The man sure could hold a grudge. No wonder Cordy had dumped him.

"Suit yourself," she said unapologetically.

"Guess who has herself a hot little date?" Spike piped in.

Buffy looked from him to Willow and back to him again. Willow? Was she on a date with... _him?_

"You've got to be kidding me, right?" she asked.

Willow looked crestfallen and Buffy quickly tried to cover her faux pas.

"Oh, Will, that's not what I... I just... he's your professor," she sighed. "Aren't there rules against that kind of thing? And I thought you were more of the ladies type anyhow?"

"I was," Willow said defensively. "I _am, _I mean. I'm not on a date with him is what I mean. What I mean, uh, he means... I asked Tara if she wanted to come to my Wiccan group. That's what I mean."

"Oh," Buffy breathed, surprisingly relieved. "I, uh... that's wonderful, Will."

She gave the red-head a squeeze and turned to pull a barstool to the end of the table.

"I was just worried that, you know, I didn't know you meant a date with Tara... and I didn't want you to get in trouble with the school or have to drop out or whatever happens when a professor is caught, you know... and a student, and that's just not of the good," she stammered.

"I know, Buff," Willow nodded, reading between the lines.

_Yeah, Buffy. I know, alright. You just wanted to make sure Mr. Salty Goodness was still available,_ she smiled to herself.

"So, uh, where's your friend tonight, Love?" Spike asked, looking for the tool she used to emasculate the weaker sex.

"Mr. Pointy?" she asked improvidently. "Left him at home. I've got four chapters in the can. I should be able to get my next advance before I run out of the money Riley so kindly shared with me."

"Not that it's my business, but what's an accomplished novelist doing hustling pool and living at home with mum?" Spike asked, not really concerned with whether or not it was his business.

"You're right," Buffy said tightly. "It's not your business. Now, Will, tell me when this date with Tara came about?"

"Ladies'?" Willow asked brightly, sensing a need for a break from Spike on Buffy's end.

As the two girls disappeared into the sea of people bobbing and weaving their way through the crowded club, Angel cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He turned back to the bleached blonde across from him, hands clasped on the table top, and leaned forward.

"Buffy's money problems are kind of a touchy subject," Angel told him. "Even more touchy than my botched relationship with Cordelia."

"It's not like I meant to upset the chit," Spike told him defensively.

"Promise you'll keep your gob shut?" Angel asked, insinuating that he was going to reveal the reason behind Buffy's financial despair.

Spike nodded solemnly. Angel glanced around again to make sure that the girls were still out of earshot.

"Buffy makes great money with her books, I mean, they're not something _I'd_ read, but she writes some pretty good Jackie Collins quality chick stuff. She has a huge following among romance readers," he explained. "There's a reason why she uses a pen name. There's a reason that the photo inside the cover looks nothing like her."

"What? She in witness protection or something like that?" he asked with a smirk.

"Something like that," Xander interrupted.

"Remember that big court case all over the news about three years ago? The man who would charm the pants off of rich, lonely women and then wipe out their entire savings, disappearing without a trace? The Ladykiller?" Angel continued.

Spike searched the recesses of his mind. He could picture the nicely dressed middle aged man with the stunning smile that never faltered as he played to the jury, the judge and the Court TV cameras. What was that bloke's name? Sutton? Studdard? No. Sumner? Hank Sumner... _Summers. Hank Summers. _He remembered. Xander was the one who caught the glint of recognition in Spike's eyes and nodded.

"Yep," he told Spike sadly. "Hank Summers, the Ladykiller. That's bastard is Buffy's father."


	8. Ch8

The women had all been wealthy and beautiful. Hank "The Ladykiller" Summers, also known by many other last names including Bailey, Rogers, Stevens, Worthington and Lyle, usually met them on cruises or at resorts world-wide. He'd spend the week flirting and spending large amounts of money on these unsuspecting, lonely women. And then he'd end up accompanying them home where he would slowly divest them of their bank accounts over the course of several months or several years.

Joyce Sutherland had fallen victim to Hank's charms while in college. She came from old money and Hank had sniffed her out immediately. He spent ridiculous amounts of his own money to win her trust and her love. And then he spent 16 years stealing away her inheritance all the while going away on frequent and long 'business trips' where he'd swindle other unsuspecting women. By the time Joyce had figured out what he was doing, it was too late. Their finances never added up. He was always investing in this or that. And she never questioned him even though they seemed to be living on a rather tight budget for people who were supposedly so well-to-do. She loved Hank and it ultimately came back to bite her on the ass. Love's bitch. That's what Joyce had been and Buffy swore never to be that.

Joyce was flipping through channels late one night and saw her husband's face on CNN. _The Ladykiller_, they had called him. Hank Summers, age 46, of Sunnydale, CA had been conning women for nearly 30 years. They showed pictures of him with his 'victims,' some of whom had actually married him not knowing that he was already married to someone else. Joyce's eyes were riveted to the TV screen, disbelieving what the reporters were saying until they showed a picture of Hank with her and the children. _He is legally married to this woman and has two daughters ages 15 and and 10._ She didn't even hear Buffy pad down the stairs and across the living room. She didn't see her teenaged daughter's jaw drop at the sight of her father on the television screen.

_"Mommy?" Buffy whispered. "Why is Daddy on TV?"_

Joyce was jolted from her own thoughts. Her eyes raised to meet her daughter's watery gaze. She didn't know what to say. Buffy thought that Hank was the world. _How do I tell my little girl that her Daddy is a con man,_ she thought, barely able to digest the information herself.

_"Buffy, honey... I... I don't know," she tried to tell her, breaking into a strangled sob as her husband's tanned and handsome face flashed on the screen again._

_"He is believed to be harmless, using charm and not violence to control his victims. A total of 34 women have already come forward to testify against Mr. Summers. He is in custody in Los Angeles."_

Buffy moved to join her mother on the couch, wrapping her arms around her and stroking her hair.

_"It's going to be okay, Mommy," she promised her mother. "Everything is going to be okay. I'll make everything okay."_

Buffy Summers swore that she'd never be anyone's victim. She swore she'd never be love's bitch. It didn't stop her from desperately wanting love and romance in her life. She only lived out those fantasies in the stories she wrote. She was 16 when her English teacher, Ms. Calendar, suggested that she try to get some of her work published. Buffy saw it as an opportunity to get her family out of debt. She saw it as a chance to save the home she grew up in and to buy out the space her mother had been renting for her gallery. What Buffy never expected was the flood of creditors who were owed hundreds of thousands of dollars thanks to her father.

She started hustling pool before she had even received the advance on her first novel. Hank had never been home much, but when he was, he'd let his older daughter accompany him to Willy's where he taught her the finer points of billiards. She was a pro at 9-ball before she was even 12 years old. She could out-Snooker the old timers who had grandchildren twice her age. Her game of 8-ball was infallible.

Buffy walked into the Bronze and scoped out the three young men playing a friendly game of pool and knew that she could easily finagle her way into the fold. Hiked up skirt, pouty lips and Mr. Pointy, and she was able to flirt her way into their game. An hour later, she walked out of the Bronze a thousand dollars richer deciding that nobody would ever pull the wool over Buffy Summers' eyes the way her father had her mother.

Spike watched the two girls giggling as they returned from their little gossip trip to the ladies' room. He couldn't help but smile at his hand in Red's giddiness. The shy girl would never have gotten up the nerve to talk to Tara on her own. Now, thanks to his interference, they were going on their first date. Now he just had to figure out what to do about Buffy.

Willow took the seat at the end of the table, forcing Buffy to sit beside Spike. She looked up and caught the twinkle in his blue eyes and winked at him, letting him know that she was thanking him for helping her out with Tara.

"So, where's Giles tonight?" Buffy asked, trying to pull her skirt down a bit from where it was riding up her thigh.

Spike caught the gesture and raised an eyebrow at her. Her cheeks flushed pink when she caught him watching. He wondered if she was remembering their phone call.

"He said something about tweaking his lesson plan tonight," Spike offered.

He let his eyes rake over Buffy's body as his thoughts turned south. He leaned toward her and whispered something about tweaking that made her turn three shades of flustered while Willow distracted Xander and Angel.

"Perhaps you'll let me read your new chapters," Spike suggested to Buffy. "You know, proof it before you send it off. An extra pair of eyes is always helpful."

"I have spell-check, thank you," she said tightly.

"Spell-check is fine for technical errors, but it won't catch grammatical and context errors," he insisted. "Need human eyes for that."

"I've managed on my own this far, so I'll pass, but thank you just the same," she responded, her voice firm.

"I don't know why you'd want to read that crap anyhow, Spike," Angel said. "No offense, Buff, but your writing isn't something that attracts guys."

"None taken," she said brightly. "Your penis isn't exactly something that attracts girls, so I'll call us even."

Spike had to hold in a chuckle as his colleague turned red with anger. The little blonde was always getting under his skin. Probably had quite a few unresolved issues with the chit after getting his ass beat good and proper at pool.

"And on that note," Xander said pushing away his plate. "I should probably get going. Early morning at the MacGowan site across town. Angel?"

The two had drove over together, so Angel didn't have much of a choice but nod and follow his roommate out the door.

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty knackered myself," Spike said with a stretch. "Red, you two need a ride home?"

"Um, I think I might wait for Tara at the bar," she smiled. "She gets off in thirty minutes. Buffy, do you want to wait with me?"

"Nah, I think I'll head home," she told her friend.

_At least someone has romance in their lives that isn't imagined._

"How about you, Goldilocks? Need a ride?" Spike offered with a smirk.

_Just say no, Buffy,_ she told herself.

"Uh, I...um..." She was stammering again.

"Imagine you walked since you and cars aren't... mixy?" he guessed, using her own words.

"Yeah... I walked," she told him.

"Right then," he grinned, standing and offering her his hand. "You won't be walking home. Too chilly. Besides, it's not safe."

Buffy was helpless as soon as his hand touched hers. She hoped Willow didn't notice as she swallowed down the lump in her throat.

"Oh goody," she beamed. "I feel better knowing you've got a ride home. Spike's right. It's not a good idea to be walking home this time of night."

She reached up to hug Buffy and then turned and did the same to a surprised Spike, kissing him on the cheek as well.

"And just in case nobody's ever told you this before," she grinned at Spike. "You _so_ rock!"

"Thanks, Red," he grinned back. "Not so bad yourself."


	9. Ch9

"No motorcycle tonight?" Buffy asked, a little disappointed that she wouldn't be straddling the seat and Spike.

"Not tonight, Love," he told her, opening the passenger side door to his DeSoto for her. "Little bit chilly for that."

Her whole body was thrumming as he slid into the car beside her. What was it about him that had her acting in a way she never had before? She was always flirting with the guys at the bar. But it was harmless flirting. It was getting them all worked up so that their games were off. What kind of game was she playing with Spike? She'd already gone further with him than she had with anyone and that was just on the phone.

He started up the engine and let car warm up a bit. One glance her way and he could tell that every one of her nerves was on edge. Her eyes were wide as she worried her bottom lip mercilessly.

"I don't bite, Kitten," he told her. "Not unless you want me to... even then, you'd have to ask real nice."

He leaned close to her and put his warm hand on her thigh. She could feel the moisture pooling in her panties just from his hand resting on her bare leg. When he dipped his head down to kiss her, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Easy now, Kitten," he said softly, his voice like a gentle caress. "Just wanted to taste you again."

Her eyes rolled closed as his lips made contact with hers. His kiss was gentle, undemanding as he sipped at the lip she'd been worrying. She moved her hands to the back of his head and pulled him in to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted and she darted out her tongue, flicking it into his warm mouth. Spike growled softly as she explored his mouth with her eager tongue. He slid his hand up her leg slowly until he reached the scrap of material covering her warm center. The little minx was already soaked just from their kiss.

She should have told him to stop, but she couldn't form the words. Even if she had, they would have meant nothing. Her legs practically parted on their own as his finger slipped beneath the lacy front of her panties. He sought out the secret spot only to discover it already throbbing in anticipation of his touch. He was becoming painfully hard at the realization that she wanted him. He slipped one finger inside of her and she moaned into his mouth. She was practically sucking his tongue into her mouth as she writhed against him. He had to taste her. She had gotten off just from him telling her about it on the phone. Hell, he'd had to give himself a good wank after that conversation. He was pretty sure he could explode just from touching her.

He pulled away from her and she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. When she opened her eyes, she felt a whole new flood of arousal when she saw him sucking his fingers.

"Oh God, Spike," she moaned, watching him lick his fingers clean.

"Want to taste you, Love," he told her. "Is your Mum at home tonight?"

She nodded her head.

"Can I take you home with me, then?" he asked, half-expecting her to say no.

She nodded again, her eyes glassed over with lust. He pulled her skirt back down and then put the car in gear. She slid over so that she was as close to him as she could be without hampering his ability to drive.

He lived in a small apartment not too far from the university. The drive was relatively short from the Bronze, but it was almost unbearable after tasting her.

"You taste like peaches," he told her, turning into the entrance of his building. "Peaches and vanilla. Could drink you all night, Love."

His voice had her mesmerized. The way he wove his words around her made her body sing excitedly. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage as he pulled into his parking space and cut the engine. He opened the door and pulled her out his side, curling his arm possessively around her waist as he walked her to his front door.

They were greeted by a black cocker spaniel.

"Gypsy, Love," he smiled, bending down to hug the dog to him. "This is Buffy. Buffy, Gypsy."

He told her to go on in while he took Gypsy outside. Buffy moved into the living room, turning on a table lamp so that she could get a better look at where Professor Benson hung his hat. She was pleasantly surprised. The apartment wasn't very big, but it was homey and tidy. She thought that all bachelors lived like Angel and Xander -- in eternal slobdom. There wasn't a dirty dish in the place. She sunk down on the black leather sectional and scanned the room. He had a small dining set with a vase of dark red roses off to the side of the kitchen. There was a blanket draped over the far end of the sectional with a small pillow and a chewed-up stuffed bunny. She assumed those belonged Gypsy. There were a couple of magazines laid out on the coffee table and a thick book of sonnets by Shakespeare.

She heard him open the door and Gypsy came barreling up on the couch to check her out. The little dog's stubby tail was wagging so much that it looked like her whole backside was moving to and fro. Buffy had never had a pet. She took the dog's sniffing and licking in stride, though, biting back a giggle at what a frou-frou dog a big, bad motorcycle driving man like Spike had.

"Gypsy," he said firmly. "Leave Buffy alone, now. Go lay down."

Gypsy got in one more sloppy kiss before moving to her own end of the couch to curl up around her bunny. Buffy had never seen a more adorable sight than the little black dog resting comfortably on her little pillow with her chin resting on her bunny.

"She's so sweet," she told Spike.

"She's so something," he smiled. "Not so much sweet as spoiled. Let me get you a drink, Love."

Her mouth felt a little dry and a drink would definitely be of the good. He disappeared into the kitchen returning a moment later with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He sat beside her and began pouring the amber liquid into the glasses.

"I picked this up on a trip to Vancouver last year," he told her, handing her a glass. "It's a tawny port. Relatively sweet. I think you'll like it."

She took a cautious sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. It tasted sweet, as promised, and burned a nice trail down her throat and into her belly. She smiled at him and nodded her approval.

He stood up and fished a lighter out of his pocket. There were several pillar candles scattered around the room and he lit each one carefully before turning out the lamp. He returned to the spot beside her on the couch and sensed a bit of nervousness coming from her.

"Relax, Love," he told her, running his hand through her loose, honeyed hair.

She took another deep sip from her glass before setting it on the coffee table beside his. Every time she tried to tell herself that she shouldn't be here, she'd catch the look in his eyes that told her that she should.

"Meant what I said, Love," he said, moving closer to her. "I've had a taste of you and I could drink you all night."

She licked her lips as his hands slid her jacket from her shoulders. He dropped a kiss on each as he bared them, sliding his hands down her arms as he removed the jacket from her body. He kissed a trail up to her neck as the jacket fell behind her. She couldn't even think straight. His mouth was incredible. If it felt this good on her neck, she couldn't even begin to think what it would feel like between her legs.

He licked her throbbing pulse as he pulled her top up over her breasts. He barely brushed her nipples and they pebbled immediately. He remembered the comment Angel had made about sucking on those hard, sweet cherries and his dick sprang to life. She helped him lift the shirt over her head as he reached around to unclasp her bra with one deft hand. She was bare from the waist up and he could feel her heart racing as he nuzzled into her collarbone.

"Gonna make it good, Love," he promised, pressing wet kisses against her heated skin.

He traced her hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue, teasing her until she was mewling softly, before sucking it hard into his mouth. She gasped as his other hand caressed her other breast.

"Mmmm... Spike, so... so good," she moaned, her arousal building as he sucked and stroked her.

He let her nipple fall from his mouth and continued peppering her skin with kisses, stopping to swirl his tongue around her bellybutton. She felt like she was going to implode. The muscles in her belly were so tight that they burned. He suddenly stopped and scooped her up into his arms.

"What... what are you doing?" she asked, almost losing herself in the stormy blue of his eyes.

"Taking you to bed," he told her, making it to his bedroom in just a few short strides.

His bed was neatly made in deeply hued fabrics of velvet, satin and chenille. He lay her gently in the center, her head supported by a mountain of soft, pillows. He moved up the bed, holding her gaze the whole time and settled between her slightly parted legs. He slowly kissed a trail from her knee to the inside of her thigh. He could smell her intoxicating arousal as he pulled himself away from her center to tease the other leg. He wasn't sure who he was torturing more, her or him. The little sounds she was making were reducing him to liquid state. He'd never heard anything so exquisite come out of someone so perfect.

"Want to show you how good it feels to be tasted like this, Love. Make you forget anyone who's ever been here before," he promised.

He darted out his tongue and he could feel the muscles tensing in her legs. He used only the tip of his tongue and was rewarded with an arch of her hips and a soft moan.

"Like that, Love?" he asked, replacing his tongue with a long finger.

She was pulling him in deeper. He breathed soft kisses over her skin before roughly rubbing her with his tongue. Just a few strokes and she was coming undone, writhing in climax beneath him.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she was practically crying.

She could feel the tears leaving a hot trail down her cheeks as he continued to gift her with soft kisses. This was even more incredible than the night on the phone with him. He left her trembling and wanting more.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved up her body so that he could see her beautiful face. Her flushed cheeks were stained with tears, but her eyes were shining with desire for him.

"Why are you crying, Sweetheart?" he asked, concerned, wiping at her tears with his thumb.

"I've never felt anything so good in my life," she told him, honestly. "Nobody's ever... done... _that._"

"Nobody's ever done what?" he asked, confused.

"N-no. Nobody's ever done _that_," she repeated, hoping he understood what she was saying.

He looked at her a moment, finally registering what she was saying. He couldn't help but smile at the knowledge that he'd been the first to ever taste her. He kissed her mouth softly. She stared up at him looking more innocent than he could ever have imagined.

"I've never..." She stopped and stared up at him again, her cheeks turning pink as she made the decision to tell him the truth. "You're my... you're... um... oh God..."

He narrowed his eyes on hers and tilted his head to the side.

"Baby, are you saying that you're a virgin?" he asked in disbelief.

She averted his eyes and stared up at the ceiling in silence positive that he'd be turned off by her revelation.

"Buffy, Love... look at me," he pleaded.

She closed her eyes before focusing on him.

"Yeah," she practically whispered. "Elizabeth St. James, writer of smut... I'm a virgin."


	10. Ch10

Spike couldn't believe what he was hearing. Elizabeth St. James... his Buffy... he was to be her first? Had she even told him that she wanted him to continue? He could feel her tensing in his arms and pulled her even closer to him.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Love," he said softly.

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"Buffy, love..."

He pulled back to look at her. She looked like a scared little girl in his arms.

"It's an unbelievable gift what you just gave me," he assured her. "And if that's as far as you want to go, it's enough for me. It was heaven being able to pleasure you that way."

She was worrying her lip again, seemingly thinking about what he had said.

"Look at me, Sweetheart," he told her, sitting up and pulling her with him.

He cupped her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.

"You are in control here," he promised. "You decide what happens and what doesn't. Know that I'd never push you to do anything you aren't ready to do."

She could see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

"I... I'm ready. I mean, I want to..."

She sighed, suddenly looking lost. Isn't this what she'd been avoiding? Isn't this what would make her weak, leave her open to hurt? But it felt so right being with Spike.

"But you're scared," he guessed.

"It's... complicated."

"This has to do with your Dad?" he asked, immediately regretting it.

Her eyes went cold and she slowly inched away from him.

"What do you know about my Dad?" she managed to ask through gritted teeth.

She was scrambling from the bed, searching the room for her clothes. Did he think she was like her mother? A victim? He was in for a rude awakening. An earth-shattering orgasm was not going to turn her into putty in his hands. There was no way that she was going to let him in. No way.

"Buffy, Sweetheart..."

He grabbed her wrist only to have her roughly shake him off.

"Don't you 'Buffy Sweetheart' me, pal. I don't work like that," she spat through her tears. "You're not going to break me. It's not going to happen. You don't get to come in and then use me up. You're beneath me."

Her words stung, but he knew that she had crawled deep into that place called fear and that she wasn't going to come back out without a lot of coaxing. Not any time soon. She was already in the living room throwing on the rest of her clothes and cursing herself.

He pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt and grabbed his shoes.

"At least let me take you home," he insisted. "It's cold."

"I'd rather freeze to death," she informed him as she pulled on her boots.

"I'll call you a cab," he said, grabbing the phone and punching in the numbers.

She sat watching him. Was this part of the game? Make her think he cared? She listened as he gave the service his address.

"If you think this is going to change anything, you... you acting like you care..."

She couldn't stop the tears from falling. She couldn't choke out any more words. He was still on the phone as she continued sobbing.

"Know what, Mate... cancel that cab. I'll take care of it myself," she heard Spike say before hanging up the phone.

He cautiously approached her, kneeling in front of her so that he could look into her eyes. She had to see that he wouldn't hurt her. She had to.

"Buffy..." he whispered. "Baby, please look at me. I don't know what's going on in your pretty head, but... I just... I'm not like your father. You're not like your mother. I... Angel mentioned him tonight. And I remembered the case on Court TV."

She looked down at him where he was kneeling at her side, one hand resting beside her on the sofa, the other on her knee. She felt like there was a ton of bricks on her chest. She could barely breathe through the fear of what she saw in his eyes.

_But Daddy lied with honest eyes, too_, she thought. _And so do I,_ she reminded herself.

"I want to believe you," she said through trembling lips. "I want to believe so bad..."

He brushed his hand down her cheek, wiping away the tears.

"Buffy, I know what you've been through," he told her. "Maybe not first-hand, but I know what it's like to be hurt and to be cheated by someone you love, who says they love you. But, baby, if you can't get past it, you're continuing to let them cheat you. You're letting them win. You're better than that. We both are. We deserve to be happy. And if I can be that man to make you happy, it's all I need. But you have to believe, Buffy. Can you believe?"

Her face crumpled again and a fresh assault of tears threatened to spill.

"I don't know if I can," she cried.

He moved to the sofa beside her and pulled her into his arms as the tears overtook her. She was shaking from her sobs.

"Shh... it's okay, Baby. It's okay," he soothed her. "You didn't say no. That's a start."

"It's me," she choked out. "I'm all wrong. It's me."

"No, Love, it isn't you."

"Yes, it is," she insisted, the realization finally dawning on her. "It is me. You don't want me, don't need me in your life, Spike. I'll destroy you. I'll destroy you just like he destroyed her. I'll take everything you give and bastardize it. I'll tear apart your heart and walk away without a backward glance. I'm wrong, Spike. Don't you see? I'm all wrong..."

She was babbling and crying, but it only made him hold her tighter.

"I'm just like him," she whispered against his chest.


End file.
